


Caught in the Act – by Mycroft

by ShirleyCarlton



Series: Caught In The Act [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mycroft's POV, blowjob, security cameras unintentionally revealing something not related to security, unintended voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 20:57:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3992608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyCarlton/pseuds/ShirleyCarlton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft had only planted the camera for Sherlock’s own good, simply to keep an eye on his little brother and make sure he was alright. He hadn’t quite meant to see his brother <i>this</i> content, however...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught in the Act – by Mycroft

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fourth of a series of scenarios written from the points of view of different people as they accidentally see Sherlock and John having sex. :)
> 
> Each of the stories can be read independently.
> 
> Big thanks again to [mydogwatson](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/) for betaing and [Redcrow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Redcrow/pseuds/Redcrow)/[thescienceofjohnlock](http://thescienceofjohnlock.tumblr.com/) and [Megabat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Megabat) for the Brit-pick!
> 
> _Also translated into Russian:[Пойманы с поличным: Майкрофт Холмс](https://ficbook.net/readfic/4597733) ___

Mycroft reclined in his desk chair and stirred his tea, heaving a contented sigh as Anthea disappeared through the door with the five hundred page file he’d been working on almost non-stop for the past month.

Finally done.

He would allow himself a fifteen-minute break – and a piece of lemon cheesecake with his tea.

As he took a bite of his cake, it occurred to him he might as well check if that security camera he’d planted at 221B the other day was actually working.

It was imperative for him to keep a weather eye on Sherlock, with the number of maniac criminal masterminds whose attention his brother managed to attract and who invariably ended up obsessing over him with their malicious plans. Although there was no need for Sherlock to know that Mycroft did this, of course. He wouldn’t understand his concerns anyway.

Sherlock simply didn’t know what it was like to have a younger brother about whom one worried constantly.

Mycroft took in a long breath, clicking his mouse a couple of times until a window popped up with a live image of the familiar living room, with a clear view on the entrance door and the kitchen visible diagonally in the background. It took his brain exactly 0.2 seconds, however, to determine that the equally familiar appearance of his little brother slouching on the sofa, was accompanied by the entirely unexpected sight of a bare-chested John Watson kneeling between Sherlock’s legs and… _sucking… his… cock_. Hard and deep, it appeared.

Mycroft’s jaw dropped and his eyebrows moved closer together – as if seeking comfort in each other. When he finally closed his mouth again, he swallowed hard and looked away.

He swivelled his chair ninety degrees to gaze at the blank wall he always used to help him order his thoughts.

_Why had he not known that they had become involved?_

He’d seen it coming light years away, naturally, but after half a decade of fruitless dancing around each other – during which time John had actually managed to get married to someone else – who would have thought the day would actually come? Nevertheless, he gritted his teeth for his sloppiness in not observing. 

Could this perhaps be their first time?

He reluctantly turned his head back far enough to be able to look at the screen once more from the corner of his eyes. No. It definitely didn’t look like that. Sherlock was completely relaxed and enjoying himself infinitely more than Mycroft could bear to witness.

Come to think of it, last time he’d seen Sherlock he _had_ come across as annoyingly content. Mycroft had stupidly assumed that had been because of the rather major case he had just solved – though that had been more than two days prior; he should have known that effect would have long faded.

He studied the live feed again to properly observe what was happening, trying not to focus on the obvious.

John was only wearing jeans, which, on closer inspection, were unzipped. Combined with the way he was taking his time and the fact that Sherlock looked a bit reddish around the lips, this was an obvious indication that John was reciprocating Sherlock’s earlier favours (making Mycroft rather glad he hadn’t tuned in half an hour earlier, as he wasn’t sure he would have been able to ever delete _that_ image from his memory – certain as he was that this one was already going to prove enough of a challenge as it was).

Mycroft had always found the idea of somebody putting someone else’s genitals in their mouth rather appalling indeed, but now that he was seeing it happen, live, he had to admit there was something… fascinating about it. At least the sequence of facial expressions it caused to flow over Sherlock’s face definitely was; as was the sheer variety of techniques John seemed to be employing on Sherlock to this effect, for that matter – from fast and deep to slow and superficial and every variable in between – very effectively making sure Sherlock would not soon get bored and safely remained in full sensory overload, completely at John’s mercy.

Good god, was this soldier fellow an enthusiast for this. What he was doing looked so... _perfect_... that it practically hurt to watch.

Meanwhile, Sherlock kept rolling his head this way and that, sometimes seemingly gasping for air as if his primary metabolic functions were struggling to maintain homeostasis. Frankly, Mycroft was quite grateful there was no audio, because he was reasonably certain that the sounds coming from his brother’s throat were fairly obscene, which he could tell mainly by the smug smirk on John’s face that was visible whenever he came up for air.

Still, Mycroft had to bite back a grin, in spite of himself.

_The hidden talents of Captain John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers._

His gaze trailed off to the way the man’s muscles rippled throughout his back with every movement he made and Mycroft involuntarily marvelled at its intrinsic beauty – only to then be struck by the folly that he should find such a trivial thing aesthetic. Maybe he was trying to understand what Sherlock felt for him, for this. But deep down, he already knew. He could see it.

There was an electricity between them – the way they looked at each other every time Sherlock opened his eyes – that was mesmerising even to him as an outsider. It showed a mutual admiration so intense, it was almost palpable across the fibreglass network the stream was channelled through. Seeing his brother being given a tour through heaven by the good doctor made Mycroft feel both slightly sick and embarrassingly envious at the same time. When John started positively teasing Sherlock and making him coil and squirm against the backrest of the sofa – swirling just the tip of his tongue along the underside of Sherlock's glans, excruciatingly slowly – Mycroft had to look away again.

The truth was, despite his rather impressive inventiveness as far as imagining possible scenarios of all sorts was concerned, Mycroft had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that this was actually his brother on the video image now burnt onto his retina. He’d never seen him like this, or even imagined he could be like this: with his guard down completely and enjoying something so unrestrainedly; readily surrendering himself to another person and allowing himself to be carried away to such extent. John Watson had miraculously chosen to shower his little brother with love and care and Sherlock, astonishingly, was accepting it, basking in it, even.

It reminded Mycroft with some nostalgia of the uninhibited, happy child Sherlock had once been.

There was obviously complete trust between them, which Mycroft found more than a bit disconcerting. He had never expected his brother to trust anyone, once the naivety of youth was gone, convinced Sherlock was like himself in that way. Then again, it seemed Mycroft had also underestimated Sherlock’s faithful blogger. He seemed to have Sherlock completely in his power, having found a way to make Sherlock throw himself in with complete abandon, apparently by giving him exactly what he needed; competently turning that brilliant and restless brain upside down to give it a luxurious holiday – even if it was just for a few minutes.

Not just any goldfish, then.

To his own annoyance, Mycroft felt tiny spikes of envy tingling throughout his body. He had always considered sex to be vulgar, messy and unnecessary, never thinking it could mean anything to either himself or Sherlock (the only person alive who was somewhat like him).  
He was now starting to reconsider.

His gaze drifted back to see Sherlock locking eyes with John and ever so gently caressing the side of John’s face with one hand, as John continued to lazily run his tongue along Sherlock's shaft. Mycroft didn’t even have to force himself to look beyond the banal level of the sexual act in order to understand that it was pure love he was seeing. Slightly overwhelmed by the awe it inspired, he slowly started to realise this was something that he’d never actually seen before or expected to see in his life. Of course, he’d seen strangers snog in public, but that was of a different order altogether. This was so much more intimate and more real; since Sherlock and John had no idea that they were being watched, there was no facade of any sort. It was rather impressive indeed to see someone he knew so well be utterly transformed by his lover.

Mycroft swallowed, staring into infinity once more. He had always known, of course, that Sherlock and John had something very special going on between the two of them, but seeing now how deep the roots of that relationship had become anchored, Mycroft started to feel a bit like an astronaut lost in space, adrift, slowly becoming more and more removed from the world that he’d known; all alone.

He sat back in his chair, as an infinitely sad emptiness crept into him. But even before he became fully aware of it, the void quickly filled with an almost crippling anxiety. Was all this really worth the price Sherlock had had to pay? He and John had become inextricably fused, like two sheets of paper that were glued together and could only be separated with great damage as a result.

The fragility of the precious interaction he had been witnessing triggered Mycroft’s mind to present various worrisome scenarios, each of which urgently demanded a counter-plan. If Sherlock ever lost what he now had with John, it would devastate him – to put it very mildly. It was the typical cruelty of life to create something this terrifyingly beautiful and then take it away again.

Sherlock had taken the risk of losing all this by allowing it to happen.

So now it was basically a matter of minimising that risk, wasn’t it?

Mycroft briskly sat up and inhaled sharply, while several plans of action started to vaguely take form in his mind. At all cost, he would make sure that this was preserved and that no one ever came between what Sherlock and John now had. Sherlock was the only person about whose life he’d ever permitted himself to care. And after decades of celibacy, his brother had chosen John, chosen to have _this_ with John (a choice surely not made lightly, or it would have been made years earlier). This could not ever be allowed to be broken, because that would break Sherlock – and, by proxy, there would be collateral damage to Mycroft’s own heart as well. Luckily, he knew a couple of tricks that could be used to steer events into the desired direction – or, more precisely, away from an undesirable one.

By the time his eyes fell on his computer screen again, Sherlock and John were cuddling together on the sofa: Sherlock resting his head on John’s shoulder, with his eyes closed, clearly in post-orgasmic haze, and John lovingly staring at him as he caressed Sherlock’s hair.

The quiet tableau made Mycroft realise with a faint smile that he had been rather thinking like an insurance person, who, upon seeing a precious jewel, could only think about its worth in terms of the consequences in case it was lost.

As he took a bite of his forgotten cheesecake, Mycroft considered that he should perhaps, in the first place, try simply to be happy for them, and trust (to a certain degree) that everything would probably be fine – as Sherlock was astoundingly now trusting also. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to take some of the precautions he had just devised, considering the position the happy couple occupied in the public eye and the extortion sensitivity of the situation.

He quickly closed the window with the camera feed when Anthea came back into his office with a new dossier under her arm.

Break-time was over.

“Is everything alright, sir?”

Mycroft realised that a lingering hint of the earlier smile on his face probably prompted Anthea’s question. “I’m not entirely sure,” he said, not bothering to hide his confused state. After a pause, he added pleasantly, “But I think so, yes. Possibly even more than alright.”

**Author's Note:**

> Contrary to my original plan to write only four fics in this series, I have actually been inspired to write another one (by a suggestion in the comments section). :D It will probably take about two weeks before it’s ready to be published though. It will be Angelo catching them in the act this time. :)
> 
> EDIT: Janine jumped the queue, so Angelo has been postponed to Part Six! :)


End file.
